


coniecturalem artem esse amor

by solitariusvirtus



Series: Uncanny Westeros (Otherworlds) [23]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Drabble Collection, F/M, Family, R plus L equals J, Second Chances
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-19
Updated: 2017-09-22
Packaged: 2018-12-31 14:21:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12134337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solitariusvirtus/pseuds/solitariusvirtus
Summary: It's a bit of a scheme. As all schemes, it touches upon the lives of many.





	1. Lyanna

 

 

 

 

 

 

Lyanna has discovered during the length of her life, upon several different occasions, that time could crawl just as well as gallop. When she bore her son, the hours, bedecked in pain, all those hours they had crawled by; that manner in which time so often did when one was beset with ache. And after, when she'd held a tiny screeching bundle of flesh in her arms, damp and tired, time had exploded into a flurry of movement. And yet, not for a moment had she felt at all rushed for it.

The thought comes with a stab of longing. Lyanna swallows the lump in her throat. It is not to be considered. There was one great happiness she never had and never would feel again. Even so, the memory of holding an infant to her chest fills her with rueful joy. Mystified at the contrary emotions tugging at her, she smooths a hand over the embroidered silk of her skirts.

Her wait is at an end when a knock upon the door startles her. Without waiting for an answer, the door opens and in steps her son. Jon's expression is devoid of emotions. He rarely makes a point of displaying an effusive countenance. "I feared I would find you asleep."

He sits upon the bed's edge, close to her. Close enough that when their arms touched he does not hesitate to allow her manoeuvring his hand into hers. "You must have been so shocked. You must think me quite the silly creature. To so easily acquiesceâ€“"

"Not at all." The hand in hers twists warm fingers around her own. It makes her smile. Once upon a time, it had been a tiny thing; it is now, like a sapling grown, great. As great as the rest of her child; the rest of the man, rather, it is attached to. "It is not at all stupid to want someone of one's own."

A heavy breath escapes her. She had not wished to sound as relieved as she supposes she does. Nevertheless, to have his understanding, is comforting. "I am glad; I cannot tell you how much." She feels a wave of warm affection wash over her, breaking free of the confines which so often remain restraining.

Jon inclines his head towards her. The beat of silence stretches out torturously between them. "Mother, I am the one who is glad." He worries his lower lip, a sure sign of discomfort. Might be blame. "I own charity was not as easy to come by as I make it out to be now. If you are pleased, then I am as well."

"As to whether I am pleased; at the risk of sounding more a fool, my heart doth swell at the thought of this fate awaiting me." Her son accepts the answer. There is not a sound to refute her claim, not a gesture to ingrain doubt in his mind.

"There is nothing more to it then, lady mother. I am certain you would like to rest now."

She would not be able to sleep. Lyanna indicates that he should seat himself. The evening light slants across his face, a warm golden hue reminiscent of lazy summer days, lying under the dapple shade of sturdy trees. Her smile widens a fraction. Jon's hand returned to cup hers. "A while longer then," he confirms, bending to her unspoken wish. "Are you feeling quite well?"

He sits back down and she uncurls her fingers, setting him free. "It is an abject feeling, to be sure, when one is rocked by uncertainty. Even with all the assurances in the world." Her son does nod his understanding, a expected.

"You must settle for assurances." She laughs, softly.

"This does not change a thing for us; pray tell me if you are set against it." He is not, as he continues to tell her. "I am contented then. I should have worked to change your mind otherwise."

Attention sharpening on her, Jon does not rush into the conversation; Lyanna has ever suspected it was his father he takes after in this. Rather, it is one he took after in nature and the other in comport. And she never could bring any complaint at her brother's door. The boy blinks, the top of his head crowned in flowing dusk-light. She rather enjoys that colour upon him. It is a break from the dreary palette usually presented. It seemed as though the whole of his unruly mane is set aflame. Her fingers itch to comb it into obedience. She doesn't particularly think it might, will work.

"This is not as near a perfect ending as one expects. I must tritely remind you that life is no song. That is not an enviable position." Well, it is to be expected. Nevertheless, it seems to her that no amount of apologies could set to rights the breach she is about to impose between them. Even with such a promise that nothing would change, she knows, without doubt, that some alteration is doubtless to occur. Her heart gives a tremulous beat.

"My poor son, forever caring for his mamma. Have no fear, Jon." She wonders when he's grown so very serious. At times she recalls the happy little boys running circles around her, him and Robb, and regrets that they will hit walls of their own, come across hardship and all manner of trials. But there is no stopping time and she had best resign herself that her son is a man like all men and will meet a like fate.

"It is no hardship, lady mother." In his old age he will no doubt look back on these moments and realise just how much had been resting upon his shoulders. She will not tell me as much though. Might be he is too young to see, might be much too innocent. "You know that."

"You have a silver tongue upon you. I do wonder what that brother of mine has been teaching you." He rewarded her efforts with a bland look.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back to basics. I'm in the mood for smth very simple. This doesn't have an arc, nor is it going to be particularly riveting. It's just a thing to write.


	2. Jon

 

 

 

 

 

 

Pausing for a brief moment, Jon has the chance to carefully consider his words. He takes it. Mother would have likely dashed right in, her mouth always a step before temperance, though in the most affectionate of ways it is that he considers even this bit of criticism. "I cannot stop her. And I certainly cannot stop Your Majesty." It is such that a bastard's protests go unheard. Well, mostly unheard.

He considers the man before him. Nothing is as he has expected. For as long as he could remember his mother had promised and promised that his father was a wonderful man, a man greater than life, a man to surpass all others. He probably does in her eyes. How much is fancy? To him, his father seemed just a man. Mild-mannered, composed and entirely beset by his midling age as though he can not bear that activity play any part of his day. He rides with almost comical reluctance, though Jon cannot be certain that is not due to the awkward nature of their encounter.

"Aye, but the proper question is whether you wish to." It is faint, but it is there. An edge to his voice; a warning. "I cannot know how much your lady mother told you, but circumstances were such that contact was impossible and a liaison untenable at that time. I will not say I am proud of how the matter was handled." That he can understand; distancing oneself from the episode. "And it changes little. What I can do is live in the here and now. Your mother has agreed to undertake this project with me."

Realistically, he has nothing at all for which to oppose him. "It is for the here and now that I am concerned." A gust of wind combs unsteady fingers through his hair. "Since I already know how matters stand." A spark of interest comes from the King. "She is my mother, regardless of whether the fact is common knowledge. Her wellbeing remains one of my primary concerns."

This must be akin to the feeling of a father warning suitors away. Not precisely the same thing, but Jon remains with that thought for a few moments longer. His mother has had suitors. One or two, discreet men whom his uncle had permitted their pursuit. Might be he'd done it knowing mother would refuse. She was nothing if not steadfast in her commitment to a son who was already cared handsomely for. No one would have begrudged her a marriage. Least of all himself. Not in his tender years; that would have upset him then. But as he grew, it dawned upon him that one could be surrounded by people and feel alone. Utterly alone. Even with the kindest of companions. It is not that his mother had endured material lacks; but uncle had always had his lady wife and his own family at the end of the day. Mother had had him, but even so, a child is no substitute for the steadying existence of a yokemate. And Jon would have never taken up such a mantle for the sole reason that he and mother had never quite stood at a height.

She must have been alone, though she never complained to it of him.

It is the man's turn to consider him with utmost care. Jon has trouble still of thinking of the King as his father. Ever since he'd been told, he had wondered what his reaction would be upon seeing his sire. It is a curiously flat thing. He'd at least expected a flurry of emotion. But he feels calm. His hands are somewhat clammy to be sure, but his heart is in no danger of taking flight and his breathing remains steady throughout.

"And you want some manner of assurance, I imagine, that she will be treated well." That he does not put it as a question is the strangest thing of all. As though Jon is somehow in the wrong for making such a request, even if imagined.

Working around a flare of ire, he nods his head acquiescingly. "I do not imagine there is any child wishing ill on his mother. Why should it be any different for me?" Of course, there is the small matter of his mother not being all other mothers. But still, he latches onto the soothing notion and strengthens his hold.

"Why, indeed?" The man gives him an odd little smile. Jon is not precisely sure what he ought to read in it, but he still allows himself a few moments to ponder it for the sheer pleasure of the exercise. "Might be you ought to join her and make certain of her continued good health."

It hits him then that only a man seeking to please would make such an invitation. Jon does not belong in King's Landing, his place is here. Mother knows it and she still asked her suitor to make such an offer. It could be that his presence would make the transition easier for her. Would it be right of him to abandon her now? He's not managed an answer by the time the King begins speaking again. "Your lady mother does worry."

"She's naught to worry over," he replies in the end. His presence at her side might be trouble for him as well. The King has a son, after all, and who is to say some clever fox won't figure out the secret. In Winterfell he cannot cause any disruptions. And still, he isn't too keen on the notion that he should be parted from his family. "Not for herself, I do not think. But others have much to lose."

The King shrugged. "Trust that any beast is capable of accruing enough wisdom to avoid the pitfalls wherever they might appear."

"And if they are not?"

"Might be they are fully deserving of their fate then." In a sense, he is not wrong at all.

"Very well; I shall join my lady mother with Your Majesty's permission."

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
